The scholar was not yet thirty, with too little life experience and not adept at handling such situations. He gripped his wine cup again with his right hand, nervously turning it gently. He wanted to get up and leave, but felt embarrassed, coughed several times, and forced himself to reply, “Confucius said: ‘Respect the spirits and keep them at a distance.’ We Confucian scholars… more or less hold this view.”

Evelyn Smith was not satisfied with this answer and continued to stare at the scholar—a perfectly healthy living person, yet with the madness of someone on the brink of death in his eyes.

The scholar grew even more frightened, shifting from being too embarrassed to leave to not daring to leave at all. He glanced around the tavern, seeking help from the other patrons, but only saw faces gloating at his predicament.

“Confucian scholars do not believe in ghosts or spirits,” the scholar asserted, hoping to end the awkward situation quickly.

“Do Confucian scholars not offer sacrifices to the gods? Aren’t those who observe the heavens in the Imperial Astronomical Bureau Confucian scholars? Do you not believe in omens, celestial changes, and portents of disaster?”

Hearing such words from a mere centurion, the scholar was quite surprised. He thought for a while and replied, “Respect and keep them at a distance, as I said before—respect but keep away. Confucian scholars don’t believe in ghosts or spirits, but neither do we oppose… There’s no need to be so particular, right? Since the common people believe… I really have urgent business, so…”

“Of course we must be particular.” Evelyn Smith slammed his hand heavily on the table, startling the scholar, who had just stood up, into sitting back down. “If there are no gods, what use are all these temples, monasteries, monks, and priests? Why not wipe them out in one stroke and save grain and land? If there are gods, then how can we communicate with them? The court often issues edicts to announce to the world—where are the edicts of the immortals? Why don’t the immortals clearly state their intentions? Why? Tell me, why is that?”

The scholar sat uneasily, once again looking to the others in the tavern for rescue.

A dozen or so patrons only laughed without answering. Only a man in a long gown, who had just come in and was unaware of the situation, sneered, “Who says there are no immortals? You just have poor eyesight and failed to recognize them.”

Evelyn Smith finally shifted his gaze from the scholar to the man in the long gown. “Are you an immortal?”

“Of course I’m not, but I…”

The scholar hesitated no longer, got up, and hurried out, secretly vowing never to accept someone else’s invitation so casually again.

The man in the long gown glanced at the scholar, then continued, “But I’ve seen one, saw it with my own eyes. The youngest son of Li Sanmazi from Wu Lao’er Alley had his soul taken by a ghost. No matter how many doctors they called or how much medicine he took, it was useless. Later, they invited a real Daoist master. After a ritual, the boy was lively and jumping around again.”

Evelyn Smith was momentarily stunned, seemingly at a loss for words. After a while, he asked, “Who was the Daoist master you mentioned?”

“Who else could it be? Of course, it was from Lingji Temple…” The man in the long gown noticed the odd expressions of the surrounding drinkers. He didn’t understand why, but realized he’d said something wrong, so he chuckled awkwardly, “Wu Lao’er Alley isn’t far from here, go ask for yourself.”

Evelyn Smith stood up, sized up the man in the long gown, and strode out of the tavern.

“Hey, Mr. Smith, you haven’t settled your bill yet…” the attendant called out.

The innkeeper waved at the attendant, “He’s a regular, just put it on his tab.” Then he lowered his head to look at the account book.

The man in the long gown was still confused. “Who was that just now? Talking all sorts of nonsense.”

The attendant said, “You don’t know him? No wonder. He’s a centurion living in Guanyin Temple Alley, named Evelyn Smith. His son…” The attendant lowered his voice, “His boy lost his soul a few days ago too. They also invited an old Daoist from Lingji Temple, but unfortunately…”

The man in the long gown suddenly understood and let out a long “Oh—” “I’ve heard about that. So it was him. If your heart isn’t sincere, you can’t invite the immortals. Can’t blame anyone else.”

The innkeeper coughed, “Enough idle talk, don’t stir up trouble.”

The attendant obediently shut his mouth, but the man in the long gown was unconvinced. “Just a mere centurion, what can he do?”

No one responded. The man in the long gown found it boring, tapped the counter, ordered another pot of wine, poured himself a drink, and soon forgot all about Captain Smith.

Three

But Evelyn Smith remembered every word the man in the long gown had said. After leaving the tavern, he immediately went to Wu Lao’er Alley, standing at the entrance and watching a few children playing and roughhousing in the street.

Soon, some adults came out, eyeing the visitor suspiciously. Evelyn Smith turned and left, unconsciously heading home. Suddenly, he stopped in his tracks, a thought arising in his mind.

Home was cold and quiet, no longer filled with the laughter and joy of children. Ethan Sullivan was alone, hunched over, sweeping the courtyard slowly, unable to keep up with the fallen leaves blown by the wind.

A middle-aged woman came out of the main house, holding a bundle in her arms. When she saw the master of the house, she immediately lowered her head and hurried away, giving a slight bow as she passed Evelyn Smith, barely pausing her steps.

After the woman disappeared, Evelyn Smith asked, “Who was that?”

Only then did Ethan Sullivan notice his master. Leaning on his broom, he looked around blankly before finally understanding. “Oh, that one was introduced by Sister-in-law Wang. She does laundry and mending for various households. Madam took pity on her and often gives her some work. She’s been here a few times. Didn’t you know, sir?”

Evelyn Smith didn’t know, nor did he care. Ever since their son was gone, his wife had become even more charitable than before, always thinking she could gain heaven’s forgiveness and have another child. Evelyn Smith had no interest in “forgiveness”; he just felt that the woman seemed a bit odd, not like an ordinary poor woman.

“Old Ethan, come with me.” Evelyn Smith didn’t want to meddle in trivial matters, only thinking about the idea that had come to him on the way.